


Monday

by qthelights



Series: Wound Down [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/pseuds/qthelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monday is awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monday

He shouldn't have answered the phone. Obviously. 

It was a stupid thing to do, take a call while in the middle of getting off. He couldn't have let it go to voice mail? Couldn't have called Jensen back in 20 minutes time?

No. He had to go and answer it, and then end it, only _not end it._

And now, here he is at 7.00am on a Monday morning pacing back and forth in his trailer waiting for the inevitable awkward moment where he has to fucking _speak_ to Jensen.

Normally, he'd be able to deal fine with this shit. After all, what's a bit of phone sex between friends, right? 

He could laugh it off or be all "what about those phones, eh?" 

But this time...not so much. Because it's Jensen for crying out loud. His co-star. His friend. His body-shield when it comes to Jared. And honestly? None of those things should make a damn bit of difference, but they do.

The shitty part is he doesn't know what exactly happened. Or how he feels about it. As much as he wants to just brush the incident away, put it down to accidents or misconstrued intentions, he isn't sure that's what it was. 

Isn't sure he wants it to be.

So now he's pacing, drumming his fingertips on the counter-top as he sweeps past it for the hundredth time, waiting for something to resolve itself. Preferably spontaneously.

The universe apparently agrees, and there's a sharp rap on the metal of the door. Misha knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that it's Jensen.

"Come in." He hopes it doesn't sound as resigned outside his head as it does inside.

And it is Jensen who opens the door, glancing hesitantly through the gap before apparently deeming the situation safe - hey look, Misha's clothed and not wanking off! - and sliding inside. The door shuts behind him with a soft click but Jensen makes no move to come inside any further.

Yeah.

Awkward.

 _Fuck_.

"Morning," Misha says neutrally, carefully, watching as Jensen's gaze skitters to his and then away.

"Uh, yeah...morning," Jensen says, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth.

"So..."

Jensen actually smiles further at that, his lips curving decidedly upwards, amused it seems, by Misha's unnatural restraint. Which kinda annoys Misha actually, because it's not like _he_ was the one who did anything wrong here. He's not the one that jacked off to his friend's _best of._

And his cock absolutely does not give an interested twitch at that thought. It just doesn't.

He arches an eyebrow, needing sarcasm, needing space; defaulting to snarkiness for protection. "So you get your rocks off listening to me come do you Jen?"

Satisfyingly, Jensen pales. "Dude," Jensen stutters, finally meeting Misha's eyes. "It wasn't like...I mean. _Shit_."

"Indeed."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "You're the one who was suddenly deep-breathing into the phone on me, Mish."

"Clearly, I didn't mean for that to happen," Misha replies, only a little snippish. "You coulda hung up the call."

"I know, I know," Jensen holds his palms out flat in a gesture of peace, "and I'm sorry. Seriously. It's just... well, you surprised me. And then well, you know... I was _surprised_. And I was tired and not thinking straight and suddenly I had my own personal porn soundtrack in my ear."

If not for the fact that Jensen actually _does_ look sorry, Misha's pretty sure he'd be getting angrier. Strangely, he seems to be calming down. Which is...not expected. It's unsettling to say the least and so he finds himself opening his mouth and saying the first thing that pops into his head.

"I think you should return the favour. It's only fair."

Jensen's brow furrows. "What?"

"You should let me hear you come."

Which, shit. He didn't really mean to say.

Jensen flushes pink and steps backwards against the trailer door. "Um, I think you kinda already heard that part..."

Misha nods, trying, desperately, for nonchalant. "Sure. But you know, _I_ wasn't listening in on purpose... and I only caught the final note, as it were. You were wiretapping me for a good ten minutes."

He doesn't really expect Jensen to do anything but argue. It's petty of him, absolutely, but he wants Jensen to squirm, maybe even get a little angry. He doesn't think it's unreasonable to want to teach Jensen not to listen at closed doors. Not really.

"You can't be serious," Jensen deadpans. 

Misha raises an eyebrow and deliberately sits himself down on the seat running along the opposite side of the trailer. Leans back against the cushions and folds his hands in his laps as if waiting for a show to start.

Jensen balks. "What, now?"

"Now." Misha answers calmly. Refuses to acknowledge the skitter-thump fluttering of his heartbeat against his ribs.

Jensen doesn't like being commanded to do things, everyone knows this, and so Misha watches in fascination as a steely gaze of resolve schools itself over Jensen's features. "Fine," Jensen growls and his hands drop to the catch of his jeans.

Which. _What the fuck?_

He didn't really think Jensen would actually do it. It was meant to be a joke. Not a very funny one granted, in truth just a mean one, but Misha's smarting, embarrassed at having something taken from him which he didn't mean to give.

He can only stare in astonishment as Jensen flicks open the button of his jeans and slides the zip down with a harsh metal grate. And then Jensen's leaning back against the door to Misha's trailer, legs wide apart and _pulling his cock out of his pants_. 

He should stop him. He should say something. Apologise and beg forgiveness. Pretend like the fact that Jensen has his cock out and in his hand in front of him is something they can come back from as long as it's put away right the fuck now.

But he can't.. he can't take his eyes off Jensen. Jensen's eyes fluttering shut, his thumb massaging at the semi-soft cock in his palm, Jensen getting himself hard. Right. There.

Misha can't stop the startled intake of breath as he feels his blood abandon it's circulatory rotation and head for harder pastures. 

He also can't stop the whimpered moan that pushes past his lips.

Something flickers across Jensen's face at the noise and a shudder seems to shimmer down the length of Jensen's body. His shoulders slump against the trailer door and he stars to stroke, slow and measured. He huffs out a soft sigh and Misha feels his heart pulse in response, watches the way that Jensen's lips part to let the sound escape. The way the darker pink of Jensen's tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

The way Jensen's cock is hardening in his hand.

Misha shifts in his chair, splays his legs wider to give himself more room as he hardens in a rush. It feels wanton and strange, to be doing this with Jensen right there, but he can't help it. Whatever has gotten into Jensen, has pushed him to this point and has made him brave or stupid, it's made Misha _want_. He drops his hand between his legs and squeezes relief into the build of heavy pressure.

Jensen's breath is slightly ragged, jerking on each forward stroke of his hand and Misha finds himself running his knuckles down against himself in time with Jensen's movements. Cants his hips up against his hand.

And when Misha sees the glint of pre-come beading at the head of Jensen's cock he gives up pretending that this isn't happening, that there's any possible way either of them are getting out of this unscathed, and slides the zip of his jeans open in a jerk. The noise is harsh in the silent-soft noise of Jensen's breathing, and Jensen's eyes snap open like he's been slapped.

The look in them makes Misha feel like he's been hit in the chest with a 2x4.

Whatever happened on the phone the other night, when they were tired and careless and protected by the anonymity of distance, and hell, whatever is happening right the hell now? It was clearly not purely accident. _Is_ not. Because the look in Jensen's eyes is pure unadulterated want and Misha can feel it, humming through him in recognition, spiralling down his musculature and making his fingers twitch and yearn.

He wants to touch. More than that, he suspects he might have to. 

Before he can so much as blink Misha finds himself across the small width of his trailer, the room rocking gently on its suspension as he makes no attempt at stealth.

But Jensen doesn't reach out for him. Doesn't pull him in or push him away. Doesn't stutter or stop or run or even ask. Doesn't make any move at all bar the steady pull on his cock, the slow blink of his eyelashes as his gaze bores into Misha's.

The noise that comes out of Misha's throat is strangled and desperate, and he doesn't even attempt embarrassment at the neediness he's emoting.

For a split second, Jensen's eyes seem to flutter backwards and his fist tightens hard around the base of his cock. Then Jensen's arching an eyebrow at Misha, and the look is at once plea and demand. Begging, inviting, ordering. And Misha drops to his knees with a heavy thump, batting Jensen's hand away.

His mouth is on Jensen's cock less than a second later, sharp and hot against his tongue. The scent of soap and sweat and _Jensen_ filling his senses. He raises his own hand and closes it around the base of Jensen's cock, his ring and little fingers tangling in the coarse mess of curls.

Jensen's palms slap back against the trailer door and he moans as his hips hitch forward at Misha's face. Misha just lets him, sucks him down further hungrily as if he's been waiting for months to do just this.

And he wonders if maybe he has.

It wouldn't be the first time his mind's made a decision without cluing him in on it.

But that's confusing and potentially awkward and he doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to think and rethink, be mired in uncertain territory, and so he doesn't. He just tightens his fingers around Jensen's cock, tightens his lips around the head and sucks.

" _Oh god,_ " Jensen's voice filters down to Misha's ears, whispered and wrecked. Jensen's fingers are scrabbling at the wood of the door, twitching and clenching in the periphery of Misha's vision. 

Misha can't help the stab of pride that pulses through him: _I did that._

He reaches out the hand not currently latched around the warm hardness of Jensen's cock, finds one of Jensen's and threads his fingers through Jensen's, pushes their hands hard against the door. And he can feel the flickering twitches of Jensen's palm, hot and slightly sweaty against his own, as Jensen loses it in time with Misha's tongue probing at the slit of his cock.

Jensen is barely holding it together, his breath hitching and his cock getting harder in Misha's mouth. The veins pulsing blood harder and faster as Misha jerks him off with his hand, lets his mouth latch around only the head of Jensen's cock, his lips flush against the sensitive underneath of the head, his tongue swathing and teasing as he hollows his cheeks and wills Jensen to come.

And Jensen comes.

His hand clenches tight around Misha's, Jensen's fingertips digging painfully hard into the back of Misha's hand. Jensen's hips arch off the back of the trailer door and Misha leans back with the movement, keeps Jensen in his mouth and beckons the come against the flat of his tongue as Jensen spills into him.

Misha coaxes, eases him through it, sucking gentler, lathing softer. Consumes and cleans and feels the soft pulses of energy twitch through Jensen's cock as it softens, still hot in his hand. 

And then Jensen is on the floor with him, knees allowed to buckle and tumbling down against Misha, knocking them in a semi-controlled slide to the floor. Jensen's eyes are wide and blown all to hell, sated but still full of a want that scares Misha, just a little. Not that he'll ever admit that.

Misha clears his throat, trapped under Jensen's sprawl of limbs, painfully hard and pressing tight into Jensen's hip.

"I don't..."

But whatever he was going to say, and honestly, he has no earthly idea how he was going to finish that sentence, is swallowed up in the hot press of Jensen's mouth on his. 

Which. _Thank fuck._

Because the last thing he needs to do right now is _talk_ about what the hell just happened.

Misha groans and opens, feels Jensen's tongue slide into his mouth, strong and sure and demanding that what just happened be all right. That it be more. And Misha is powerless to deny it, to deny him. So he just delves in deeper, allows the kiss to continue and grow, feed his hunger as he starts to thrust his cock against Jensen's hipbone.

And Jensen goes with it. Presses back down against him. Presses him into the dirty cold floor, teeth clashing at the awkward angle, tongue coaxing and learning and giving to Misha like Misha just gave to him. 

The floor is painfully hard and Misha's jeans are cutting into his ass, his t-shirt riding up his back and leaving his skin naked to the dirty linoleum. But it doesn't matter, doesn't even put the slightest of dampers on the _wantmustneed_ that thrums through him as he shoves up at Jensen. 

And when Jensen moans into him, gasps and shudders as though he's still on his way and not coming down, Misha knows there's nothing else. His voice strangles and hiccups and he's coming, hot and needy inside his fucking underwear, rutting up against Jensen as his orgasm overtakes him and floods his nerves with sweet and hot.

When he comes back to his senses, Jensen is pressed up off him slightly, looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and an expression that Misha can't decipher.

"Are we even now?" Jensen eventually says, soft and ragged. The tone is warm though, and Misha feels the tension sitting at the base of his spine uncoil, just a bit.

Misha swallows, allows his lungs to gasp in a breath as his brain plays catch up.

"I think," he begins, pauses but finds no other sentence forthcoming, "now we're royally fucked."

Jensen smiles wryly, acknowledgement flashing warily in his gaze. He makes no move to get up, to move his weight off Misha's body. "You could be right."

Misha nods sagely. Well. As sagely as one can nod when pressed into the floor. "I often am."

Jensen chuckles, and Misha ignores the way his heart thumps in response.

Yep.

Totally fucking fucked.

He should never have answered the phone.


End file.
